i'd love to take your time
by Glockenspielium
Summary: It's quiet on the trauma ward.


It's a busy night on the ICU ward.

The trauma wing is nearly full, almost every bed occupied by some pour soul unlucky enough to be needing one. Hercules nods to the nursing staff as he makes his way down the long hall. He is pleased to see that Sam's been successfully transferred back to the neurology ward during the day, his tracheostomy must have taken well- but it's a sign of the strain on their resources that multi-trauma cases like his are being sent away after such a short stay, and it's not a good sign.

At least Peggy's back from maternity leave. The night shifts never quite the same without her manning the cubicle beside his, though he's not had any issues with either of her replacements. It's nice to see her smiling face greeting him as he shoves his bag into a locker and swings the door shut.

"Hey there, Mulligan," she says.

His hugs for her are longer than they are for most other people. He can gather her up entirely in the circle of his arms and she loves it. His hugs for her might be longer than is entirely appropriate in most work environments, but there's a bond formed over caring for the near-dead and dying that defies etiquette. There's also the fact that he's never given a single shit for what anyone else thinks about him. It's mostly that.

"Busy night tonight," she says.

Peggy takes the elevator up from the emergency department; her train drops her off just half a block from the entrance there. He tried it once- coming in through ED. It has been years since he was working as a fresh-faced, eager-eyed young nurse in emergency, and the only thing he could report back to Peggy that night was how nice it was to recognise that he didn't miss a second of it. The trolleys lining the hallway are smattered with blood and faeces. The endless stream of tired, waiting patients, and even more exhausted doctors, pushing through the sliding doors at all hours. Collared faces with vacant stares fixating on the ceiling, while other wild and desperate eyes darting frantically around the room, searching for some form of respite as their hands strain against padded shackles. But, at any rate, Peggy always knows when it's going to be a busy night.

There's a lot of assumptions made about Hercules, based on his height and the breadth of his shoulders, the colour of his skin. Similarly, there's a lot of assumptions made about Peggy. But, they both know that Peggy's always been the stronger one of the pair.

Hercules enters the ward through the waiting room, just as he's done almost every night he's worked in the Valley Forge ICU these past seven years.

"It's good to see your face," he says.

Though her eyes are sharper, quicker, less naive to the world, the rounded softness of her cheeks has remained. She's added streaks of deep red to her curls, twirled up into a tight bun on top of her head. It's the kind of shade that might have looked cheap on someone else but, as she stands there in the tea room, deep blue scrubs, cocky smirk and one perfectly manicured hard resting at her hip, Peggy looks pretty damn fantastic.

It's reassuring to think that some things don't change.

They walk out onto the floor together, joining with the rest of the trauma night shift for the evening handover. Peggy hauls herself up onto the desk, legs swinging as she pulls out her phone to show Eliza a photo of her daughter with a strawberry pink beanie pulled down over her curls. Eliza faces lights up into a smile into dainty dimples that grace the corners of her lips. How she manages to start and end each night beaming positivity, he will never understand.

"There's a new nurse starting on trauma tonight," she says, pointing out an unfamiliar face framed by long black hair, standing quietly, patiently amongst the throng of scrubs.

"Remind me to drop by and check that she's getting along okay," she adds.

He agrees, but it's unlikely that Eliza will forget. She's prone to remembering those kind of things- who needs an extra hand with turns, who has bad knees and won't be able to take external referrals that require running down the back stairs. Sometimes, as he catches her beaming smile, he wonders why it is that she takes so many night shifts, at least as many as Peggy does. Then he remembers that not all scars are visible, and he reminds himself to always smile back, reflecting as much of her brilliance as he can.

Hercules accepts the ward list from Martha, with a murmured thanks,before she's hurriedly gathering their attention to begin. He has always admired her commanding voice, her clear and specific instructions, her dynamic mind, but he doesn't envied her job.

They read down the list, as Martha announces any important information notes from the afternoon staff, as well as tasks to be completed overnight. There's a few cardio cases which have the potential to be difficult to manage overnight, but Martha's more concerned about the three new trauma cases; one stabbing and two victims of a motor vehicle accident. Quite right, too. The first night for trauma cases is often an unsteady one. As he scans over the list, he's unsurprised to see that one of them has been allocated to his newly empty cubicle.

"Oh, they're married," Peggy says.

She's right. She's on 24 and he's on 25, slotted into spots beside each other on the list as they are on ward, and in the first column it's easy to spot their matching last names. It could be a coincidence, but he's somewhat sure that, this time, it's not. The words that follow in the rest of the boxes, listing the mechanism of injuries, imaging results, past medical history- they all vary slightly between the two beds, but at the same time, they tell an intertwined story. His gaze flicks back to the patient information on the left, the string of letters leaving him frowning slightly. Medical terminology is one thing to conquer, but English is the first and only language he's ever known. Hercules mouths the unfamiliar words silently as he reads-

"Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette"


End file.
